


Hedging Your Bets

by thefrogg



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, The Author Regrets Everything, idek, tooth-rotting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:26:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrogg/pseuds/thefrogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve Rogers invests in a new security system for the arc reactor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hedging Your Bets

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Feelschat for everything. Everything, I tell you!

It takes less than twenty minutes to get lost in New York City, a brisk walk from the Tower, streets new and strange and achingly familiar at the same time. Steve rubs absently at his chest, grimacing as he recognizes the gesture as one he's picked up from Tony.

_Damnit, Tony._

Cohabiting was supposed to bring them closer, was supposed to solidify them as a team, if not friends or family, and yet...

Steve sighs. He can't deny that Tony's been the consummate host, designing a floor of the Tower - Stark's Tower, Stark's _home_ \- for each of them, unasked, that they've passed the honeymoon phase and relaxed enough to piss each other off, learn each other's quirks and annoying habits.

His feet take him around a corner, down another block without him paying attention; it's not like JARVIS won't guide him back from the Starkphone in his pocket, and it's a relief to be just another stranger in the city.

Another stranger in the city, instead of...

Instead of whatever Tony sees him as - icon, hero, legend, something he never wanted to be, never intended to be, could cheerfully strangle Howard Stark for building him into in Tony's head. Steve hasn't seen _Tony,_ the real Tony, arrogant and manic and the strangely, humanly vulnerable hero that he has become, since they shared shawarma after the Battle of New York City. Not unless Tony was too involved in some project to--

To what? To pretend? To self-censor?

To be some caricature of himself, something Tony thinks Steve wants from him?

Another block passes by unnoticed save the small corner of his mind managing traffic lights and crosswalks.

_"I am Iron Man."_ Steve's seen the clip, that admission, that press conference, too many times to count, and yet, the world still sees Iron Man as the hero, Tony Stark as just the billionaire playboy.

_Like how the world sees you as a paragon of virtue despite having been in the Army? Leading the Howling Commandos? Just because you choose not to use foul language doesn't mean you haven't, that you don't or won't or can't. I won't mention the going AWOL and spare your delicate sensibilities,_ his conscience whispers.

Steve wishes he could stop, stop thinking about it, how much he wants Tony to just be himself instead of on his best behavior, like he'd shock and appall instead of build a real friendship, one Steve's so sure is wanted but can't get past the mask Tony insists on wearing around him.

Movement from the corner of his eyes makes Steve pull up short and turn to see a handful of roly-poly puppies in the window of a pet store, the black and tan and pointed noses of Dobermanns. Hands shoved in his pockets, Steve can't help but stand and watch for few minutes as they tumble over one another, small paws going up on the glass as if trying to get to him.

It's not that he wants one, wants a pet, that drives him through the door and inside. There's something effortless about it, though, as he crouches by the plexiglass pen, watching as the puppies scramble over to him. Something soothing to nerves rubbed raw, and he loses track of time.

"Sir?" There's an awkward clearing of throat behind him, and Steve looks up to see a gawky teenager peering at him curiously. "Were you interested in one of the puppies? They're purebreds, we have the papers. I can get you the breeder's information if you'd like--"

"Oh. Sorry, I--My landlord--" Steve presses his lips thin and shakes his head a little, as much to clear his mind as to reply. "I'm sorry, I was just thinking, and they caught my attention."

"Of course, sir. Let me know if I can be of assistance?" And the blush makes it all too obvious Steve's been identified, and the boy -- _young man,_ his conscience whispers -- is trying not to fawn.

Steve gives a half smile in answer and nods. "Thank you." After one final half-longing glance -- he might even bring himself to ask, but then again, no, the heroing business doesn’t exactly lend itself to dog ownership -- Steve stands. _Maybe something else, something less demanding._

Steve drifts past the kittens and half-grown cats, the caged macaw, the wall of budgies and lovebirds and canaries, to the more exotic animals between the birds and the wall of fish tanks.

_Nothing with glass, that's just asking for a Hulk problem, but--_

A ball of sharp-looking spines inside a wire cage stops him mid-thought. More like brings his earlier upset to a screeching, shuddery halt. 

_Tony._

Hasn't Steve himself thought him a strangely, humanly vulnerable hero? Emphasis on vulnerable? If it weren’t for--

If it weren't for the masks of arrogance and confidence, exhibitionism and eccentricity -- those few who are close enough, trusted enough to look beyond what Tony willingly shows the world out of a sense of sheer self defence could so easily gut him, cripple him with so little effort--

Steve hooks careful fingers around wire framework and bows his head, jostling the cage.

Inside, the ball unrolls itself and trundles to the edge, investigating, and shoves its nose through the bars.

~~~

It takes two days and numerous promises of silence and conspiracy from the team, from JARVIS, but Steve manages.

Tony's in his workshop (again) working on some new project, and Steve takes it as a sign, and in a few short hours there's a wire cage on a cabinet on the communal level.

Face it, they all know Tony's going to forget to feed it, or something, and there will be times he can't take care of it due to business obligations.

But there's a cage, and food and other paraphenalia, and a promise from JARVIS that yes, Tony's still preoccupied.

Steve cups the little ball of spines in one hand, the hedgehog sleepy and complacent as he taps his code into the door panel.

Tony's there in all his sweaty, oily glory, stained wifebeater and jeans, arguing half-heartedly with Dummy (who clacks his pincers at Steve in a hello but otherwise doesn't betray his presence) and monologuing on whatever blue holographic thing he's pulling apart and rearranging on the drawing board in front of him. 

Steve stops just inside the door and lets himself soak it in, the unguarded engineering at work beneath the deafening AC/DC, manic energy and surprisingly economical movements honed by Iron Man.

Dummy starts it, backing away from Tony to stare at him, slowly rotating and clenching and unclenching his claws. Steve takes that as his cue, and circles around Tony out of his line of sight, so close--

This is Tony's safe space, his _safest_ space, and so unguarded Steve wants to cry, wants to ask why Tony has to hide even here--

A tap on the shoulder has Tony spinning around, hands coming up as if to use Iron Man's repulsors, and Steve uses his left hand to ease Tony's right arm down, make a cup out of Tony's hand, and drop the hedgehog into it. "Got you something," he says gently, waiting out Tony's shock at the sudden silence as JARVIS cuts the music off mid-chord.

Tony blinks at him dumbfounded, then swallows hard, finally getting his breathing under control as he realizes there's no attack, nothing but Steve way too close, all up in his personal space and--

\--glances down.

The hedgehog has since uncurled, wrapped one forepaw over the first knuckle of Tony's thumb, and wriggles a little as Tony shifts his hand, spines undulating in a shallow wave.

~~~

Tony's heart is slow to crawl back down from his throat, even if Tony knows -- he _knows --_ that he would have known long before Steve snuck up on him if there had been an actual threat.

_That's what comes of letting people get so close, after all,_ he thinks absently, still swallowing convulsively and blinking down at a handful of spines.

"I--you. What. Hedge--hedgehog, you got me. A hedgehog?" he manages half-coherently, static roaring in his ears, and blinks stupidly at the animal, then up at Steve.

Steve's reply sounds like it's coming from underwater, from a distance, and Tony can barely make out the affirmative, the reassurance that there is a cage upstairs already, and then Steve's gone, the fading echo of a firm shoulder-clasp the only evidence that Steve had been there.

Aside from the handful of spines cupped against his belly and snuffling at his grimy wifebeater.

"As for you," Tony whispers, trembling hand coming up to stroke his...his...

Dear god. Steve Rogers got him a _pet._

"I. JARVIS, save, close, bring up--"

"Of course, sir." JARVIS complies with such alacrity that alarm bells go off.

"JARVIS, you knew about this? You knew Steve was--that he--"

"You don't appear to object, sir," JARVIS answers drily, and Tony can't quite blame him.

Oh, he could, he could _definitely_ blame JARVIS for everything, but there's a hedgehog trying to climb his shirt, and it's his in a way that nothing else has ever been, not the team, or his creations or even the armor, and Tony has to sit down before the burning in his eyes make it too hard to navigate.

_Not crying,_ Tony tells himself, _just tired, just--_ even though he can feel the tracks, taste the salt on his lips, and he turns on the couch, stretching out, keeping his hedgehog -- _his_ \-- steady against him as he lies down, its spines smooth and stiff under his fingers. It wobbles a few steps further up his torso, scrabbling over the lower edge of the arc reactor and climbing until it's all but blocking the pale blue light shining through the hole in his shirt.

"That's my arc reactor, buddy," Tony whispers. "It's proof..." he swallows down more pain and tries again, "proof Tony Stark has a heart," he finishes, feeling the rippling carpet of spines scrape gently across his palm.

The hedgehog just turns its head and licks his fingers, then curls up in a ball atop his arc reactor and falls still.


End file.
